I don't want the giant ego. I don't want to become Kevin Costner, singing on the soundtrack to The Postman.
quote by Joss Whedon
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Rain
(rock the joint)
Me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
Supa dupa fly (uh-huh)
Supa dupa fly
{singing} i can't stand the rain!
(uh-huh) me i'm supa fly (uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window
When the rain hits my window
I take and {inhale, cough} me some indo
Me and timbaland, ooh, we sang a jangle
We so tight, that you get our styles tango
Sway on dosie-do like you loco
{singing} can we get kinky tonight?
Like coco, so-so
You don't wanna play with my yo-yo
I smoke my hydro on the dee-low
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (against my window)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (say what?)
Yeah..
Beep beep, who got the keys to the jeep? v-r-rrrrrrrooooom!
(uh-huh) i'm drivin to the beach
Top down, loud sounds, see my peeps (uhh)
Give them pounds, now look who it be (who it be)
It be me me me and timothy (me me!)
Look like it's bout to rain, what a shame (uh-huh)
I got the armor-all to shine up the stain
Oh missy, try to maintain
Icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky-icky..
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
(uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (say what? uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (uh-huh)
{singing} i can't stand the rain! (uh-huh, uh-huh)
{singing} 'gainst my window (yeah)
[...] Read more
song performed by Missy Elliott
Added by Lucian Velea
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Soundtrack To A Generation
The smell of trees. can only be that way. on a sunny day.
Floating through the open window. to the cool inside.
Where we lay side by side. how can anything we feel. ever
Mean so much. as a summer love? how can anything we
Need. ever get in touch. with the meaning of.
A whole life waiting? wishing suddenly. that its going to be
The real thing. or separating. try your luck again. its just
Part of the adventure.
Holy cow. you do it to me now. the soundtrack to a
Generation. oh, wow. youre getting to me now. the
Soundtrack to a generation.
Another tune. before the light has gone. and well be on
Our way. the sounds and smells. will always linger on.
Theyre in my heart today.
We feel so lucky then. the worlds a massive place. but we
Run into each other. just one small happening. an accident
Of fate. or the work of co-conspirators? but if we knew.
What could it do. to help us now?
Holy cow. you do it to me now. the soundtrack to a
Generation. anyhow. just give it to me now. the
Soundtrack to a generation. oh wow. you really got me
Now. the soundtrack to a generation. holy cow. youre
Getting to me now. the soundtrack to a generation.
Years have gone on in between. but all I knew at
Seventeen. is all I know now now. through times of joy and
Suffering. the music flavours everything. thats all I know
Now.
Holy cow. you do it to me now. the soundtrack to a
Generation. oh wow. you really got me now. the
Soundtrack to a generation. anyhow just give it to me
Now. the soundtrack to a generation.
Just give it. youre getting. you do it you really got me now.
The soundtrack to a generation. oh wow. just give it.
Youre getting. you do it.
You really got me now. the soundtrack to a generation.
Oh wow. you really got me now. the soundtrack to a
Generation.
song performed by Human League
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Mephisto And Kevin
In 1986, the University of Californa at Davis
saw two of its all-time brightest stars,
Dr. Alphonse Mephisto and Dr. Arnie Abesacraben.
Dr. Mephisto worked hard towards his thesis - his goal
was to genetically duplicate the DNA structure of Asparagus,
so that all Asparagus would grow to the same girth and length,
Giving Asparagus a much more pleasent presentation in the world's
supermarkter vegetable bins.
Dr. Abesacraben's goal was to genetically create the greatest
musical entertainer the world had ever seen.
Dr. Abesacraben knew that if he could assemble the right elements,
he could theoretically build a DNA structure that would ensure
his creation had talent far surpassing the average individual.
At the time, one subject of urban myth was the story that
Michael Jackson - in an effort to maintain his youthful look and
feminie vocal characteristics - had his testicles surgically removed,
thereby making him a modern-day castrato.
If such a rumor were true, Michael Jackson more that likely would have
had some of his semen preserved before the surgery, to ensure his the
future of his name and lineage.
Word came back to Dr. Abesacraben of a secret cold storage locker
deep within the bowels of the UCLA research center, that not only
contained four containers of frozen semen, but also held a pair of
testicles, each was labeled with the name "Jack Michaelson".
I once heard a noise,
In the night the most sensual voice.
Song of love from a eight year-old boy,
Stuck in my head.
And this is what he said:
I am gopher boy!
Pondering reality!
I am gopher boy!
Who will buy my raspberries?
This had to be the seed of the king of pop!
Dr. Abesacraben was able to use his charm and and chissled Greek
feature to woo a young lab technician by the name of Jennifer, who of
course happened to have the proper access needed to obtain a small vial
of the precious semen.
The search for the egg was a short one - Dr. Mephisto simply ran an ad
in the classified section of an airline music magazine.The ad read:
"Wanted: unfertilized human eggs for genetic experiment.Donors must
have musical background."With a pleathera of young, eager wanna-be
music starlets willing to sell their eggs, the two doctors - after
rigorous
auditioning - picked... and purchased.
Dr. Abesacraben felt that it would be far less complicated legally if the
fetus were brought to term in the womb of a non-human.He had long since
secured the services of the University volleyball mascot, a llama by the
name of "Missy".
When the baby was ready, the child via cesarean.It was a healthy baby
[...] Read more
song performed by Primus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Mephisto & Kevin
In 1986, the university of californa at davis
Saw two of its all-time brightest stars,
Dr. alphonse mephisto and dr. arnie abesacraben.
Dr. mephisto worked hard towards his thesis - his goal
Was to genetically duplicate the dna structure of asparagus,
So that all asparagus would grow to the same girth and length,
Giving asparagus a much more pleasent presentation in the worlds
Supermarkter vegetable bins.
Dr. abesacrabens goal was to genetically create the greatest
Musical entertainer the world had ever seen.
Dr. abesacraben knew that if he could assemble the right elements,
He could theoretically build a dna structure that would ensure
His creation had talent far surpassing the average individual.
At the time, one subject of urban myth was the story that
Michael jackson - in an effort to maintain his youthful look and
Feminie vocal characteristics - had his testicles surgically removed,
Thereby making him a modern-day castrato.
If such a rumor were true, michael jackson more that likely would have
Had some of his semen preserved before the surgery, to ensure his the
Future of his name and lineage.
Word came back to dr. abesacraben of a secret cold storage locker
Deep within the bowels of the ucla research center, that not only
Contained four containers of frozen semen, but also held a pair of
Testicles, each was labeled with the name jack michaelson.
I once heard a noise,
In the night the most sensual voice.
Song of love from a eight year-old boy,
Stuck in my head.
And this is what he said:
I am gopher boy!
Pondering reality!
I am gopher boy!
Who will buy my raspberries?
This had to be the seed of the king of pop!
Dr. abesacraben was able to use his charm and and chissled greek
Feature to woo a young lab technician by the name of jennifer, who of
Course happened to have the proper access needed to obtain a small vial
Of the precious semen.
The search for the egg was a short one - dr. mephisto simply ran an ad
In the classified section of an airline music magazine. the ad read:
Wanted: unfertilized human eggs for genetic experiment. donors must
Have musical background. with a pleathera of young, eager wanna-be
Music starlets willing to sell their eggs, the two doctors - after
Rigorous
Auditioning - picked... and purchased.
Dr. abesacraben felt that it would be far less complicated legally if the
Fetus were brought to term in the womb of a non-human. he had long since
Secured the services of the university volleyball mascot, a llama by the
Name of missy.
When the baby was ready, the child via cesarean. it was a healthy baby
[...] Read more
song performed by Primus
Added by Lucian Velea
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Please Mr. Postman
( stop )
Oh yes, wait a minute
Mister postman
( wait )
Wait mister postman
(*) please mister postman look and see
( oh yeah )
If there's a letter in your bag for me
( please, please, mister postman )
Why's it takin' such a long time
( oh yeah )
For me to hear from that boy of mine
There must be
Some word today
From my boyfriend
So far away
Please mister postman
Look and see
If there's a letter
A letter for me
I've been standin' here
Waitin' mister postman
So patiently
For just a card
Or just a letter
Sayin' he's returning'
Home to me
Repeat (*)
So many days
You passed me by
See the tears
Standin' in my eyes
You didn't stop
To make me feel better
By leavin' me
A card or a letter
Repeat (*)
( why don't you check it and see one more time
For me you gotta )
Wait a minute, wait a minute...
( mister postman )
Mister postman look and see
( c'mon deliver the letter, the sooner, the better )
Mister postman
song performed by Carpenters
Added by Lucian Velea
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Free Yourself and Let It Go
Deflated ego?
You think I say the things I do to you,
To deflate your ego?
I am hoping my assistance,
Helps you get rid of it.
And seeing no benefit in being limited.
And that's what your ego has done!
Made you believe you are number one.
And everything you do is correct.
Without a self examination...
Needed to allow you to live your best yet.
Deflated ego?
I may say some things to you that upsets.
I may even criticize something you do,
You accept as your best.
I might even attempt to strip,
That façade you charade.
Since it's your ego that has you 'tripped'...
When you see it for what it is,
You will realize your greatness has nothing to do with it.
In fact it is keeping you,
Inflated with bs and other nonsense.
Deflate your ego?
You think I do that,
From a threat I feel.
To diminish you in some way...
So I would have a greater appeal?
And deflating your ego would give me thrills?
You need to free yourself and let it go.
If you believe that keeping it,
Inspires a greater you with heights to reach!
Free yourself and let it go.
That ego you've got stunts your growth!
Free yourself and let it go.
That ego you've got stunts your growth!
Free yourself and let it go.
That ego you've got stunts your growth!
Stunts your growth!
Stunts your growth!
That ego you've got stunts your growth!
Stunts your growth!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Like It's Mixed With Yeast
Feed my ego,
Let it lift...
Like it's mixed with yeast.
Like delicious bisquits whipped.
Or a cake that bakes to rise,
To the heights of the sky.
Feed my ego,
Let it lift...
Like it's mixed with yeast.
Like delicious bisquits whipped.
And no one can get enough of it.
I admit I seek applause,
To arouse my roar.
And when I don't get it,
I wish for it a bit!
I admit I seek applause,
To arouse my roar.
And when I don't get it,
I wish for it a bit!
I admit I seek applause,
To arouse my roar.
Feed my ego,
Let it lift.
Feed my ego,
Let it lift.
I admit I seek applause,
To arouse my roar.
Feed my ego,
Let it lift.
Feed my ego,
Let it lift.
Like it's mixed with yeast.
Or...
Delicious bisquits whipped,
No one can get enough of it!
Feed my ego,
Let it lift...
Like it's mixed with yeast.
And allow everyone to get a sample piece to eat.
Feed my ego,
Let it lift...
Like it's mixed with yeast.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Orlando Furioso Canto 15
ARGUMENT
Round about Paris every where are spread
The assailing hosts of Africa and Spain.
Astolpho home by Logistilla sped,
Binds first Caligorantes with his chain;
Next from Orrilo's trunk divides the head;
With whom Sir Aquilant had warred in vain,
And Gryphon bold: next Sansonet discerns,
Ill tidings of his lady Gryphon learns.
I
Though Conquest fruit of skill or fortune be,
To conquer always is a glorious thing.
'Tis true, indeed, a bloody victory
Is to a chief less honour wont to bring;
And that fair field is famed eternally,
And he who wins it merits worshipping,
Who, saving from all harm his own, without
Loss to his followers, puts the foe to rout.
II
You, sir, earned worthy praise, when you o'erbore
The lion of such might by sea, and so
Did by him, where he guarded either shore
From Francolino to the mouth of Po,
That I, though yet again I heard him roar,
If you were present, should my fear forego.
How fields are fitly won was then made plain;
For we were rescued, and your foemen slain.
III
This was the Paynim little skilled to do,
Who was but daring to his proper loss;
And to the moat impelled his meiny, who
One and all perished in the burning fosse.
The mighty gulf had not contained the crew,
But that, devouring those who sought to cross,
Them into dust the flame reduced, that room
Might be for all within the crowded tomb.
IV
Of twenty thousand warriors thither sent,
Died nineteen thousand in the fiery pit;
Who to the fosse descended, ill content;
But so their leader willed, of little wit:
Extinguished amid such a blaze, and spent
By the devouring flame the Christians lit.
And Rodomont, occasion of their woes,
Exempted from the mighty mischief goes:
[...] Read more
poem by Ludovico Ariosto
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Please Mr Postman
Wait, oh yes wait a minute mister postman
Wait, wait mister postman
Mister postman look and see
You got a letter in your bag for me
I been waiting such a long time
Since I heard from that girl of mine
There must be some word today
From my girlfriend so far away
Please mister postman look and see
If there's a letter, a letter for me
I been standing here waiting mister postman
So patiently
For just a card or just a letter
Saying she's returning home to me
So many days you passed me by
See the tear standing in my eye
You didn't stop to make me feel better
By leaving me a card or a letter
You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You gotta check it and see, one more time for me
Wait
Wait
Wait
Deliver the letter, the sooner the better
Wait
song performed by Beatles
Added by Lucian Velea
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Please Mister Postman
Wait, oh yes wait a minute mister postman
Wait, wait mister postman
Mister postman look and see
You got a letter in your bag for me
I been waiting such a long time
Since i heard from that girl of mine
There must be some word today
From my girlfriend so far away
Please mister postman look and see
If there's a letter, a letter for me
I been standing here waiting mister postman
So patiently
For just a card or just a letter
Saying she's returning home to me
So many days you passed me by
See the tear standing in my eye
You didn't stop to make me feel better
By leaving me a card or a letter
You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You gotta wait a minute, wait a minute
You gotta check it and see, one more time for me
Wait
Wait
Wait
Deliver the letter, the sooner the better
Wait
song performed by Beatles
Added by Lucian Velea
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0409 The Postman and the Dog, or Plato's Fido
There has to be a reason:
dogs bite postmen.
It's not just that they jump up the sofa to the window
and bark excitedly even when the postman's invisible down the street;
that's smart; but they don't stop at that. For those of us
who still have letterboxes in our front doors,
every one's a tasty finger-trap...and open the front door
to take the parcel - and all hell breaks loose.
You'd think that they'd catch on, that their owners
mostly like to have a dropp each day - even though
its largely bumf (and you can't even use it for that) :
it's not bills every day; no, postie's not our enemy
that dogs defend us from; or do they pick up thrilling smells
even before he's at noselength, of rival canines
all along his round? Can't the perfume industry dream up
a body-spray for postmen to please the canine race?
A kinda Mini Factor Inc., 'Make-Up To the Curs'...
I wonder if the answer's in the Hindu mould:
that this life is the sweet-sour fruit
of last lives' actions; even our living form:
Was the postman with the hang-dog expression
who won't look me in the eye - as if
we both remember some shared former life -
is he on the up: his last life, noble, faithful, obedient dog
with just one fatal flaw: he couldn't resist a juicy mouthful
of postman's ankle?
So now he's born - eternal justice so decreed -
a postman... tooth for a tooth...but carrying in consciousness
a hang-dog memory of that guilt?
Or (since it's said the number of created animal souls
stays constant) is he on transmigration's down escalator -
a human failure as a postman, who, out of public gaze,
aims a shrewd and secret kick at Fido... and
with that hang-dog expression....
yes, you guessed it.
I wonder if I should mention this to him?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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I'm Singing (A Song You Like) :
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like..
And if you want me, and need me real bad.
Just call me.
I'm there when you want.
Just call me.
I'm there when you need my love.
I'll give you, the things that you need.
I'll give you, the things that you want.
I'll give you, the love that you need from me..
Because I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like.
When I give you, the love that you need.
Return, your love to me.
Return, your love to me at once..
Because I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like.
And when you call me.
Please want me real bad.
I need you.
I need you real bad.
I love you.
I love you for what you are.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing and playing guitar.
I'm singing, I'm singing a song you like..
Song-Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1988,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
See>>www.edwardspoetry.com
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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No Protocol
To forgive someone misdeeding,
Is to be shatterproof...
When deceivers are loose,
And do whatever they choose.
To forgive someone misdeeding,
Is to be shatterproof...
When deceivers are loose,
And do whatever they choose.
Since,
They have no protocol.
None that can be seen at all.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too...
To make more fools,
Of whomever they choose.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Because they have no protocol.
None that can be seen at all.
To forgive someone misdeeding,
Is to be shatterproof...
When deceivers are loose,
Since...
They have no protocol.
None that can be seen at all...
Because,
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
And dupe too.
Yeah.
Their main gig is to ego boost,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Miniature Woman
The Blue-Eyed Giant, the Miniature Woman
and the Honeysuckle
He was a blue-eyed giant,
He loved a miniature woman.
The woman's dream was of a miniature house
with a garden where honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
The giant loved like a giant,
and his hands were used to such big things
that the giant could not
make the building,
could not knock on the door
of the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
at that house.
He was a blue-eyed giant,
he loved a miniature woman,
a mini miniature woman.
The woman was hungry for comfort
and tired of the giant's long strides.
And bye bye off she went to the embraces of a rich dwarf with a garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,
a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:
in the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house...
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Singing All Day
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing,
Oo, my, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Went down to the station to look for her there,
Looked through the crowds for a glimpse of her hair,
Nothing to see but the crowds keep a-staring at me,
My, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Down in the street, tryn to remember,
Shuffling my feet outside a menswear,
Is that her in the fur coat?
No its not december yet,
My, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Back to the house, maybe shell phone me,
Singing my song, feeling so lonely.
Ill sing very softly, so if the phone rings
I can hear it, I can hear it.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing.
Singing all day, singing 'bout nothing,
Oo, my, my, my,
Oo, my, my, my.
song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Wicked Postman
Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent, tell me,
mother dear?
The rain is coming in through the open window, making you all
wet, and you don't mind it.
Do you hear the gong striking four? It is time for my brother
to come home from school.
What has happened to you that you look so strange?
Haven't you got a letter from father today?
I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost
everybody in the town.
Only father's letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the
postman is a wicked man.
But don't be unhappy about that, mother dear.
Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid
to buy some pens and papers.
I myself will write all father's letters; you will not find
a single mistake.
I shall write from A right up to K.
But, mother, why do you smile?
You don't believe that I can write as nicely as father does!
But I shall rule my paper carefully, and write all the letters
beautifully big.
When I finish my writing do you think I shall be so foolish
as father and drop it into the horrid postman's bag?
I shall bring it to you myself without waiting, and letter by
letter help you to read my writing.
I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice
letters.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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To kill ego is to kill self.
Every move you initiate
Is towards gaining you power.
It is the motto of your ego.
Fire spreads by eating the fuel.
Life stays by burning the food.
Ego stands by swaying others.
Where is fire if there is no fuel?
Where is life if there is no food?
Where is ego if there is no second person?
Ego keeps you and propels you.
Ego spares you and rescues you.
Its action is gaining power,
With which only it’s effective.
To beat or evade the rivals,
To snatch or catch for livelihood,
And to corner and keep sex mates,
The ego seeks to have power.
The ego keeps you viable
To fight to get or possess.
To get power is of instincts
That manifests in child’s action.
Playing toys, it manipulates them.
Fighting pears, it finds its strength.
Fighting foes, it asserts its right.
To imitate is to feel high.
To cry is to get back the lost.
To explore is to train its skill.
Loving mother is feeling safe.
Fearing is guarding the self.
Every act done, right or wrong,
Every skill learnt, good or bad,
Every show made, worth or worse,
Are all towards gaining a hold.,
Be it an act of friendliness,
Where you seek to spread influence,
Or an act of love and courtship,
Where you strive for an acceptance
Or of service and sacrifice,
Where you reserve ground for future.
Sports are the substitutes of fight,
Where you test your killing spirit.
Indoor games are mental conquests.
To forgive, forget and patch up
Is to have eyes on the future.
To surrender to the might
Is to be a part of the might.
[...] Read more
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Alankar (Decor) -10
Music My Love
'Music my love, singing in heart repletes
I swear on my singing you too love it
My notes, my scales, singing my choice, my taste
When I go on singing sure for repeats
Listen to my singing closing your eyes
Honour you my singing with mind open
And you to my singing you ears sharpen
Never to my singing should you despise'
'Oh me to your singing I close my eyes
And me to your singing with mind open
I pray as your singing in heart repletes
And mine to your singing ears do depise
Not mine but yours, singing not to happen
Music your love, singing yours no repeats'
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Squatter, Three Cornstalks, and the Well
There was a Squatter in the land—
So runs the truthful tale I tell—
There also were three cornstalks, and
There also was the Squatter’s Well.
Singing (slowly): “Sin and sorrer, sin and sor-rer, sin and sor-r-r-rer.”
The Squatter he was full of pluck,
The Cornstalks they were full of sin,
The well it was half full of muck
That many rains had drifted in.
Singing (with increased feeling): “Sin, &c.”
The Squatter hired the Cornstalks Three
To cleanse the well of mud and clay;
And so they started willing-lee
At five-and-twenty bob a day.
Singing (apprehensively): “Sin, &c.”
At five-and-twenty bob the lot—
That’s eight-and-four the day would bring
To each; and so they thought they’d got
A rather soft and easy thing.
Singing (sadly): “Sin, &c.”
The Cornstalks cleaned the well within
A day or two, or thereabout—
And then they worked an awful sin—
A scheme to make the job last out.
Singing (reproachfully): “Sin and sorrer, &c.”
For when the well was cleaned out quite
Of all its logs and muck and clay
They tipped a drayload down at night
And worked to haul it up next day.
Singing (dismally): “Sin, &c.”
But first the eldest, christened Hodge,
He greased the dray-wheel axles, so
The super wouldn’t smell the dodge
And couldn’t let the Squatter know.
Singing (hopelessly): “Sin and sorrer, &c.”
The stuff they surfaced out each day
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
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Autumn
As a harvester, at dusk,
Faring down some woody trail
Leading homeward through the musk
Of may-apple and pawpaw,
Hazel-bush, and spice and haw,--
So comes Autumn, swart and hale,
Drooped of frame and slow of stride.
But withal an air of pride
Looming up in stature far
Higher than his shoulders are;
Weary both in arm and limb,
Yet the wholesome heart of him
Sheer at rest and satisfied.
Greet him as with glee of drums
And glad cymbals, as he comes!
Robe him fair, O Rain and Shine.
He the Emperor--the King--
Royal lord of everything
Sagging Plenty's granary floors
And out-bulging all her doors;
He the god of corn and wine,
Honey, milk, and fruit and oil--
Lord of feast, as lord of toil--
Jocund host of yours and mine!
Ho! the revel of his laugh!--
Half is sound of winds, and half
Roar of ruddy blazes drawn
Up the throats of chimneys wide,
Circling which, from side to side,
Faces--lit as by the Dawn,
With her highest tintings on
Tip of nose, and cheek, and chin--
Smile at some old fairy-tale
Of enchanted lovers, in
Silken gown and coat of mail,
With a retinue of elves
Merry as their very selves,
Trooping ever, hand in hand,
Down the dales of Wonderland.
Then the glory of his song!--
Lifting up his dreamy eyes--
Singing haze across the skies;
Singing clouds that trail along
Towering tops of trees that seize
Tufts of them to stanch the breeze;
Singing slanted strands of rain
In between the sky and earth,
[...] Read more
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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